Read Ebook: The Little Gentleman by Stooke Eleanora H Marquand E R Illustrator

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Ebook has 748 lines and 27645 words, and 15 pages

"And is she your only relative? Your father--what of him?"

"He went away--I don't know where--years ago, when I was a baby. I don't remember him. Gran's always saying he'll come back some day. I wish he would; p'r'aps he'd be kinder than Gran."

The little gentleman looked at her pityingly. "Poor little girl," he said, "you must let me be your friend, will you?"

"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Melina in amazement. "I--oh, you can't mean it! You are a gentleman, and I--" She broke off with an expressive glance at her ragged frock.

"It is Melina Berryman, sir."

"Well, then, Melina, remember that I am your friend, and you will know that there is some one in Hawstock who is not against you--some one who would do you a good turn if he could and will pray for you to our Father in heaven."

"Do you mean God?" asked Melina.

He assented. "'If God be for us, who can be against us?'" he quoted.

The little girl gave him a quick, shrewd glance. "You ain't a parson," she said; "I wonder what makes you talk like that! I don't want to think of God. I'm afraid--" She broke off abruptly.

"Afraid of Him who gave His dear Son to be the Saviour of the world? Oh, surely not! Don't you know that Jesus is your Saviour? Don't you know that He promised 'Him that cometh to Me I will in nowise cast out'? He wants you to go to Him, to trust Him, to give Him your love, and then you will never feel lonely or friendless more. He is the one perfect Friend who never changes, never fails anyone. I can answer for that."

The little gentleman paused, his face glowing with the light of that faith which had been his guiding star for many a long year, and, taking one of Melina's little cold hands, he pressed it kindly.

"Good-bye, little girl," he said, "and God bless you. Before long I hope we shall meet again."

MELINA AT HOME

WHEN Melina returned to her grandmother she found her sitting up in bed, holding her sides and coughing, looking a miserable object indeed. Mrs. Berryman was an old woman of between seventy and eighty years of age, with a lined face, the skin of which looked like parchment; beady black eyes, exceedingly sharp; and a quantity of coarse white hair.

"You've been dawdling," she said in a harsh voice, as soon as her fit of coughing was over and she could find breath to speak; "you'd catch it if I was up and about, you lazy baggage, you! Get me a cup of tea, do you hear, and be quick about it!" She sank back on her pillow, and Melina heard her mutter to herself: "I don't know what's taken to me! I'm as weak as a cat!"

The little girl went downstairs, and, ten minutes later, came back with the tea. Her grandmother tasted it and made a wry face, but subsequently drank it.

"How do you feel, Gran?" Melina inquired, with more curiosity than sympathy in her tone.

"Bad," answered the old woman curtly.

"Don't you think you ought to have a doctor?"

"A doctor? No. I don't believe in doctors. I've told you so before."

Keeping a safe distance from the bed, Melina surveyed her grandmother meditatively. "What'll become of you if you get worse?" she asked presently; "you may die, you know."

"Die!" Mrs. Berryman shrieked forth the word with an angry glance at her granddaughter.

"Yes," nodded Melina, "and then you'd have to be buried, of course. I was wondering--would it have to be a parish funeral, with the workhouse hearse, and--"

"You wicked, cruel girl!" broke in Mrs. Berryman. "How dare you talk like this to me! I'm not going to die--not now, at any rate; but if I did, what do you think would become of you?"

Melina reflected for a minute, then replied: "I suppose I should go to the workhouse--I don't know that I'd altogether mind. Mrs. Jones said the other day that I should be better off in the workhouse."

"The impertinent, interfering creature! And you--oh, you are an ungrateful girl! After all I 'ye done for you, to talk like that! Haven't I given you shelter and food for more than ten years, and yet I don't believe you'd care if I was dead and buried!"

"No," admitted Melina frankly, "I don't believe I should. You've never been kind to me, Gran; often you've beaten me something cruel, you know you have! Why, my back and arms are sore and covered with bruises now from the beating you gave me last week!"

"I'm a bit heavy-handed, perhaps," Mrs. Berryman admitted hastily, "but you're enough to aggravate a saint sometimes, Melina. When I beat you, it's for your good--to make you a better child."

"But it doesn't make me better," Melina said. For once in her life she felt she had the advantage of her grandmother, and she was taking a naughty pleasure in the fact; she could say what she liked, for the old woman was too ill and weak to touch her. "The more you beat me the worse I am," she declared, "and I hate you--oh, you don't know how I hate you for being so cruel!" Her eyes flashed with indignation, and her thin frame trembled.

Astonishment kept Mrs. Berryman silent for a minute, then she said in a tone which was very mild for her:

"That's a nice way to talk to your grandmother! Don't stand there staring at me like that! Here, take my keys and get your dinner--you'll find some bacon in the corner cupboard; and don't let me see you again till I call for you. I'm going to try to get a nap, for I feel just worn out."

From under her pillow the old woman drew a bunch of keys, which she extended to her granddaughter, who took it in silence and went downstairs into the kitchen. The little girl knew which key fitted the lock of the corner cupboard, and, having unlocked the cupboard, she took therefrom a lump of fat bacon and a very stale loaf. She cut herself some bread and bacon, and, being very hungry, made an excellent meal; having done which she locked away the remains of her repast and the groceries she had purchased, and slipped the bunch of keys into her pocket.

It was cold in the kitchen, for the fire had burnt low; so Melina, making as little noise as possible, fetched some fuel from a cupboard under the stairs and made up the fire afresh. Soon she was warming herself before a fine blaze.

"I may as well make myself comfortable now Gran's out of the way," she reflected; "I wonder what she'd say if she saw how much coal I've used!"

A smile flickered across her face, but it was not a pleasant smile; for it was full of bitterness, and made her look old beyond her years. The expression of her countenance changed a few minutes later, however, as she thought of the little gentleman and recalled how kindly he had spoken to her, and her eyes--clear, changeful, hazel eyes they were--grew wonderfully gentle and soft.

"Fancy his wanting to be my friend!" she mused. "I can't understand why he should! And he said 'God bless you'! I shall never forget it--never, as long as I live! Oh, I do hope I shall see him again!"

Melina was unaccustomed to kindness, and, hitherto, she had felt at war with all the world. She was a sadly neglected little girl, and, it must be admitted, a very naughty one, disobedient to those in authority over her, and impatient of control. Frequently she would stay away from school for days, and pass her time in wandering about the streets gazing into the shop windows, or in taking long tramps in the country; and on several occasions the attendance officer had brought complaints to her grandmother: the last time he had called he had warned Mrs. Berryman that she would be summoned to appear before the magistrates if she did not see that her grandchild went properly to school. That had been the previous week; and, subsequently, Mrs. Berryman, who had been drinking, had given Melina the unmerciful beating which, though it had left her sore and bruised in body, had not broken her spirit in the least.

Presently Melina heard a rap at the back door, and went to see who was there. It was William Jones.

"I say, Melina," he began, "here's tuppence for the tea--I asked father for it when he came home to dinner. I--"

"Keep your tuppence!" interposed Melina, waving aside his extended hand and scowling at him in a vindictive manner; "I don't want it. I bought some more tea."

"Oh, did you? I didn't think you had any money. But, I say, you may as well take the tuppence--that'll be fair."

Melina hesitated--not about taking it, but whether or not she should explain that it had not been her own money which had replaced the tea; she decided against doing so. Thereupon, without answering the boy, she shut the door in his face, and returned to her former position in front of the fire.

"Good afternoon, Melina," she said, as she met the little girl's glance of inquiry; "I'm sorry to hear that your grandmother's ill; I've made her a custard, thinking she may fancy it."

She held out a little basket, covered with a snowy cloth, which Melina took with a few murmured words of thanks, feeling very surprised, for as a rule Mrs. Berryman's neighbours refrained from having anything to do with her.

"I heard your grandmother coughing dreadfully in the night," Mrs. Jones remarked; "it sounded to me as though she had a very bad cold. She's wise to stop in bed, I'm thinking. You get her to eat that custard, and, if she enjoys it, I'll make her another. And oh, by the way, you'll find a bit of cake in the basket--that's for you, for your tea."

"Thank you," said Melina, moving aside the cloth and peeping into the basket. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "what a big bit of cake it is, Mrs. Jones, and how good it looks!"

"Well, I hope you'll find it tastes good," replied Mrs. Jones, smiling; "and, Melina, if you want any help whilst your grandmother's laid up, you just speak to me and I'll come in. I don't suppose there's more to be done than a girl of your age can do about the house; but if Mrs. Berryman should get worse, or you should require assistance in any way--well, you'll know who to call upon.' And with a nod she took her departure.

"Mel--lina! Mel--lina!" called a hoarse voice from above.

"Coming, Gran!" Melina answered, as she shut the back door. She took the custard in its glass dish out of the basket, and carried it, with a spoon, upstairs. "Look what Mrs. Jones has brought you," she said, as she entered her grandmother's room; "she made it on purpose for you, because you're bad."

"Mrs. Jones? Humph! How did she know I was bad?"

"She heard you coughing in the night," Melina replied, refraining from mentioning her conversation with William, who had doubtless carried the news of her grandmother's illness to his mother, lest she should be accused of gossiping. "Will you have the custard now?" she inquired.

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